Puppy Not-Love
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Sherlock doesn't bring home a ticking bomb, he doesn't bring home a severed head, he doesn't even bring home the milk. Instead, he brings home a puppy. Cue dog-lover!lock.
1. Lost and Found

**Puppy Not-Love**

Sherlock fruitlessly tried to pull his collar closer to his face, hunkering down against the cold and the rain that was battering London. Weather forecasts. He never really had any inclination to check them before he went out, but it was always a habit that he said he'd try... mostly on days like this, when he was caught in the torrential downpour.

Why did all the cabbies always seems to be too preoccupied when it was pissing down? The only time Sherlock _ever_ had trouble with cabs was when the weather took a turn for the worse.

Soaked and shivering, his coat heavy against his skin, he rounded another corner and stayed close to the buildings, hoping for an awning or, at the very least, an overhang to block the rain.

He took a shortcut through an alley - a path he was familiarised with frequently- shivering harder as the rain picked up intensity fractionally.

He was about to exit the alley when a soft noise drew his attention. He was always on alert, high-alert in shady places, even. The homeless on the streets of London mostly were under his command, but there were a few strays that tried to be 'singular' in the scheme of things. Sherlock didn't trust those people. He did, however, trust his own baritsu. Anyone who confronted him would end up out cold in ten seconds flat. Sherlock was _hardly_ in the mood.

However, as it turned, there wasn't a person at all.

There was another rustle. It seemed to be coming from a dripping cardboard box.

Rats were possible, but size differentiation and the sound... More than likely a cat, straying for food. No meowing, however, and no clawing of cardboard to shreds, either.

Curiosity would kill him, Sherlock knew, but something pulled him to the box and away from the safety and comfort of Baker Street. With a sigh, he back-tracked and grabbed at a corner of the sodden box.

Despite himself, he jumped when a little dog's head popped out of the opening. It stared up at him with big, brown eyes and barked, making him jump again.

"... Just a dog," he muttered, hand faltering.

It looked like a Labrador, chocolate in colour with large floppy ears and presumably large paws. It couldn't have been more than a month, a month and half old. No tags. Its fur and its shelter made the presumption that it had been abandoned. Recently, going by the state of the box the animal was in.

Something strangely close to nostalgia welled up in Sherlock's before he could squash it. He crushed it immediately when he could and put on his usual face, but it didn't stop him from reaching into the box and gently lifting the puppy out.

"Hey there, little one..." he murmured. He ran his fingers gently over the puppy's body, looking for anything that was out of order. All of its bones seemed in tact and it didn't even seem underweight, but it had been clearly abandoned.

Its tail was wagging ferociously, its whole body waggling with the motion.

A little smile tugged at Sherlock's lips. Further evidence that the dog had not been abused - it didn't flinch away from him, but tried to lick his face.

"Oh... come on, then," he muttered. He shifted the dog to one arm and unbuttoned his coat, gently positioning the animal against his chest before wrapping the coat around it. He buttoned it as far as he could without choking the puppy and gripped at the bundle so it wouldn't fall.

"It's much too cold and wet for this right now," he muttered, beginning his stride again.

It took less than ten minutes to get to his doorstep. He only paused slightly in the doorway - Mrs Hudson had a no-pets rule in Baker Street - but this was slightly different. He took the steps two at a time, shivering in time with the animal concealed under his coat.

"Sherlock? Oh, you're _soaked_." John had glanced up from his chair, frowning.

Sherlock sighed. "Funny enough, I noticed." He shifted uncomfortably, his clothes clinging to him and a puppy snuggled to his chest. "... John, do you have any allergies?"

John looked away from the telly again. "... Why? If you're doing another one of those pollen counts-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "Allergies to animals."

"Why?" John asked again. "Did you find a dog on a case?"

No more than had John said that, the bundle in Sherlock's coat yipped.

"Well, it was more on the walk home," Sherlock said, folding his coat back to reveal the puppy. "It was in a box, in an alley... no tags. Abandoned."

John's eyes had gotten progressively wider throughout Sherlock's explanation. He stared at the puppy and then looked at Sherlock. "Mrs Hudson is going to have a _fit_!"

Sherlock licked his lips, something close to nervousness crawling beneath his skin. "I couldn't leave it out there. It's cold and rainy and windy. We can always hand it over to a shelter, but I figured we could take care of it for now."

John's lips turned down at the corners. "I never pegged you as a dog lover."

Sherlock shivered hard, not from John's statement but from the cold. "Could you, maybe... watch it or something while I change and shower? It's freezing." It took all of his willpower to stop his teeth from chattering.

John sighed. "Take that coat off and get me a towel or a blanket. That dog's probably just as cold as you are."

Sherlock nodded. One-armed and awkward, he managed to shrug his coat off into a sopping pile on the floor. Abandoning his shoes, he squelched his way to the bathroom, found one of John's plushiest towels, and wrapped the puppy up in it.

"Is it a girl or boy?" John asked from the doorway.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, handing the puppy over to John. "I didn't check. I was a little preoccupied. I'm freezing."

"Hm." John cuddled the puppy up to his chest, a smile breaking out across his face for the first time since Sherlock got home. "Alright, buddy, let's see if you're a little girl or boy and then we'll get you some water and food."

John left the bathroom, leaving Sherlock rolling his eyes as he peeled his clothes away from his skin.

John was wrong.

Sherlock _was_ a dog person. He was _so_ a dog person. If anyone could melt his stone-cold heart, it was a dog. Big brown eyes, floppy ears, clumsy paws, baby growls and barks, puppy breath, and the _loyalty_ of man's best friend. Sherlock's best friend had always been his old dog, a red Irish Setter, Redbeard... but that had been an age ago. Different times and different... lives, really. Well, he still didn't have friends, save for John, who followed him around _like_ a dog...

There was a series of yips from the kitchen, followed by a peal of John's laughter.

Before Sherlock could stop it, the smile had jumped back to his lips and, this time, he was helpless to push it away.

Imagining having a dog around, for however a short of time, made Sherlock melt... just a tiny bit... on the inside... and out.

* * *

**Been wanting to write this ever since Redbeard. :p There will be more chapters, with fluffy Sherlock being in ("not") puppy love with the cute little fuzz-ball. :p**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	2. Sherlock Names the Dog

Sherlock stepped into the kitchen, pulling his dressing gown close around his shower-warm body. "You like dogs," he commented, eyeing John, who was sprawled out on the floor and trailing his fingers across the carpet for the puppy to pounce on.

John sat up slightly. "Yes. So?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Didn't peg _you_ as a dog lover."

John smiled faintly. "Uh, yeah, Harry was allergic when we were kids, so I never... well, who _doesn't_ like dogs?"

Sherlock turned to the teapot. "Cat-lovers."

John laughed, getting to his feet. "Well, what are we going to do with her, then? It is a her. We can't keep her. I don't know how long we'll be able to pass off the barking as one of your ridiculous experiments, but Mrs Hudson doesn't even like it when you bring home _dead_ animals." He paused. "Although, I don't think anybody really likes that."

Sherlock poured himself a cuppa, taking a sip. "Say it's for a case... Find a new home for it or drop it off at the shelter tomorrow. I don't care."

"You do, though," John replied, refilling his own mug. "You brought it home, meaning you found yourself sentimentally attached to that." He pointed to the puppy, pausing afterwards. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock followed his gaze. "Oh. Nice. I thought you were watching it," he said dryly, taking another drink of his tea.

"Well, I was entertaining her, until I had to talk to you."

"You didn't have to talk to me," Sherlock pointed out. "You just chose to."

"Yes, well, now there's piss on the floor. Clearly, she's not house-broken," John said just as dryly, putting his mug down.

"Oh, don't act like it's the first time," Sherlock said absently. "There's rags under the sink in the bathroom."

John sighed. "I don't even want to _know_, do I?" he muttered, leaving the room to go find the rags.

Sherlock looked at the little Labrador. It barked and ran across the sitting room, pouncing on one of John's discarded slippers. Sherlock grinned, schooling his expression as John came back.

"Could you, I don't know... play with it or something?" John asked, rummaging under the kitchen sink for some cleaner.

Sherlock took another contemplative drink of his tea before setting his mug down. "I'll take it back to my bedroom. There's less clutter and less potential things for her to get into her mouth." He brushed past John and crouched next to the puppy. "Alright. Let's discard John's slipper and go back to my room."

The puppy merely growled as Sherlock tried to pull the slipper away. Another smile sprang to Sherlock's lips before he quickly pushed it down, pulling more firmly on the slipper. "Now, now. Leave it. _Drop it_," he ordered.

The puppy didn't drop it.

Sherlock sighed. John laughed.

"Hey, it's your slipper," Sherlock said. He grabbed the other slipper and waved it in front of the puppy. "Yes, look. It's the second to the pair. You want to terrorise this one, too?"

As with most puppies who thought everything was a new toy, the Labrador perked up and barked a few times, crouching down to its front paws. Its tail was wagging ferociously.

"Well, she's ambitious," John commented.

"Yes." Sherlock stood up, coaxing the puppy back to his bedroom with the slipper.

"So, what should we call her?" John called.

"Call her?" Sherlock echoed.

"Well, we can't just keep calling her 'it' or 'the puppy'."

Sherlock looked up from unplugging his lamp - the electrical cords couldn't lay on the floor, because dogs chewed on _everything_ - and looked down at the puppy. "I don't know."

"Didn't you use to have a dog?" John asked, water turning on the bathroom as he washed his hands.

"Er." How did John know that? "Yes, but it wasn't a girl." He jumped as the puppy pounced on his bare feet. "Hey. Those are my feet, _not_ a chew toy."

"Huh." John pushed open Sherlock's bedroom door and closed it behind him. "What about... Chocolate or something?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, let's name a dog after something that you eat. Not to mention that she _is_ a chocolate Lab. Creative."

"Well, I don't know, do I?" John retorted. "Like I said, I never had a dog. And I'm not good at naming... pets."

"You had a fish named Bubbles when you were five," Sherlock said, "so, yes, I'd agree."

"How do you know about Bubbles?"

Sherlock finished collecting the cords and shoes from the floor - his bedroom was spotless compared to the rest of the flat, and he specifically wanted it that way - and sank into the chair. The puppy was still slobbering on his feet and he gently pushed it away with his opposite foot. Naturally, it came right back and nipped his toes.

"We could name her Feet," John said jokingly.

"Okay, John, listen to me. The base line here is: you do not name dogs people name, you do not name them after food, you do not name them after body parts."

John raised an eyebrow. "Okay, come up with a name, genius."

Sherlock looked back at the Lab, pushing it away from his feet again. He had named Redbeard when he was a child and he was _not_ going to be making the mistake of a childish name again, much less a pirate one.

"Beryllium."

"_Beryllium_,_"_ John repeated. "Are you _kidding_ me? You're naming it something off the periodic table?"

Sherlock looked up. "Why not? It's a perfectly acceptable name. It sounds distinctly feminine and, besides, _we're_ not keeping her, so why does it matter? She won't learn a name in the process of a couple of days."

John sighed. "Okay, whatever. _You_ need to call a shelter, because we cannot keep _her_..." He looked down at Beryllium. "However cute she may be, you cannot have a dog in this flat."

"Why not?" Sherlock retorted. "I'm currently letting her bite my toes - which, I might add, hurts more than you'd expect - and I removed all of the electrical cords and possible things that she could get in her mouth from the floor. I'd be a perfectly responsible dog owner."

"Yes," John muttered. "And, like a child, you would pawn her off onto me the moment that you got busy with a case and, lest we forget, _I'm_ always running after you."

Sherlock looked back at the Lab. "We could train her in crime work."

"Why don't you try a bloodhound for that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Stereotypical and therefore boring. Besides, the shelters are closed tonight. You can call in the morning. Beryllium can sleep with me tonight."

"She's not house-broken," John reminded, heading for the door.

"When I said 'sleep with me', I wasn't being quite so literal. I'll get some old blankets for her bed tonight," Sherlock replied, not moving.

"Great. Try to get my slippers away from her, too, before she chews a hole in them. I'm going to make dinner. Is tenderloin good?"

"Sounds great," Sherlock replied, not bothering to look away from Beryllium.

John opened the door and paused. "Don't get too attached," he said, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and bent to pick up the puppy, lifting it onto his chest. "I'm not attached. I'm never attached."

Beryllium simply yipped and licked at his face, trying to paw her way further up his chest. She nipped at his chin and Sherlock turned his head away, only the wall witnessing his smile as Beryllium nibbled at his earlobe.

* * *

**Isn't Sherlock and a dog so _adorable_? *o* Martin's dog and Benedict for the Redbeard/Sherlock scene set the stage and voila. It's adorable.**

**Sorry about the delay. The muse is fickle on this one, but I was in the mood for cuteness. I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


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